every rose has it's thorn
by PmpknKttn
Summary: Deadly, beautiful and professional. You are a trained assassin, born and raised to kill. The best of the best, only following the orders of the one who pays you the most, and of course your own. When you were younger, your father taught you everything you need to know to become a professional killer like all of your ancestors.
1. Chapter 1

AN: If you feel like you've seen this story somewhere before, you may be right. I've posted it on ao3 and Wattpad, too so this is kind of a "reupload". I might forget to add the chapters here, so I'll link the "original" below.

 **10:00 P.M.**

You heard the ringing of Big Ben and smiled slightly. Because you couldn't fit your pocket watch into the cheap and dirty dress you wore for work, you had to count on the bell in the north tower so you didn't miss your meeting. Since you were working at the small but important hotel in central London, you knew when the few guests would be coming back to their rooms after they had too many drinks and very important business meetings. You also knew that the other servants would be sleeping by now because you were on night shift since you started working as a maid which they were very thankful of. They trusted you because of your "cute smile" and "kind appearance". Fools. They were all fooled by your friendly little mask. Nobody of them assumed that you were only playing with them like you were playing chess. All of them were your little figures and you were about to make your last move to checkmate the white king.

Your white king was an important salesman who pissed your customer off pretty badly. He wanted to marry your customers's daughter, but your customer had other plans - so he had to get rid of him before his daughter could do something dumb and rebellious. His daughter kind of reminded you of yourself when you were younger. Once you were rebellious, too. This was until your father tied you to a tree in a stormy night and punched you with a bible before he let you stay outside until the morning. You still got a small scar on your cheek from the edge of the bible that reminded you of that day every time you saw it in the mirror. No, Stephen Morgenstern was not a loving father, he was more like a teacher. He never said that he loved you, his only daughter, and he told you that love was only a distraction.

With a quick shake of your head you brushed those memories off. You had to concentrate on your job now. About five minutes after you heard the ringing of the Big Ben you were able to hear some footsteps coming towards you. You were hiding in the room next to your victim's, waiting for him to stumble into his room.

 _Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap,_ _ **crash**_.

He stopped next to the door of his hotel room and pushed the vase over so it fell down in the hallway, making a huge mess of shards, water and white roses. This was not planned, but you were going to to make the best out of the situation, so you stepped out of your hideout. "Oh dear. What happened, Mister Pomeroy? Are you _hurt_?", you said, faux-worried. Mister Pomeroy lifted his gaze from the shards on the ground and gave you a drunk smile. "I think it fell down by itself.", he answered you and giggled. You simply shook your head and took his key. "I'll have to clean this up now in the dark, but first I have to be sure that you are alright ."

"How sweet of you to insist on taking care of an old man.", Mister Pomeroy answered. You were able to hear his perverted grin in his voice and it made you shiver with disgust. Oh hell, you just wanted to get this done. Quickly.

Mister Pomeroy somehow managed to open his door and held it open to you like the gentleman he never was. You stepped in and the door was shut in the second you were inside the room. Your victim slowly walked to his bed and opened his tie as you turned around and smiled like he was the most attractive man you ever saw. He wasn't . "I think I should bring you to bed, what poor service would I offer if I wasn't able to make sure our guests are all satisfied?", you said in your most seductive voice and your hand slowly slid in the pocket of your dress. You grabbed the small bottle that was inside and placed yourself on Mister Pomeroy's lap. He stared at your breasts, which were directly in front of his face. The poor man was so distracted from your deep neckline, he did not notice the bottle in your hand or that you opened it. "I managed to steal whiskey from our private collection, do you want to taste it?", you whispered in his ear and he put his head back and opened his mouth willingly.

The small bottle of poison was technically enough to kill three men but it was quicker with a higher dose. You had mixed some cheap whiskey with the belladonna extract so it would be hard to smell the poison. Slowly and with the first honest smile of the day you poured the liquid into Mister Pomeroys mouth. He swallowed it and began coughing only seconds after.

His grey eyes stared at you in the dimmed light of the few candles that were lit in the hotel room - they were filled with panic and fear. He seemed to realize that the loss of air was caused by the liquid he just swallowed. "You... YOU!", he coughed again, "You are this damn _witch_!"

You knew what he meant with 'this damn witch'. He meant all of the murders with belladonna poison, which was kind of your trademark. Afterwards you always took a small, but important thing from your victim and placed a single red rose on the dead body. You were a killer, but you did not want to be cruel or unrespectful.

Mister Pomeroys eyes were still fixed on you and you simply nodded while you were able to see the light in his eyes fade. Seconds later, he didn't breathe anymore. Your victim, Augustus Sean Pomeroy, was dead.

If he was a bit lighter you would not have needed so much time to prepare him. You laid him in his bed, re-did his tie and placed a rose on his chest, then you took his pocket watch. There was a small photography of him and his family in it, so you thought it would be "small but important". With a smile you whispered "ave atque value" - it meant "hail and farewell". You once thought this would fit because you did not know the people you murdered enough to find the right words.

After you cleaned up the mess in the hallway, you left the hotel, dressed in your simple brown cotton dress with the pocket watch in one pocket and a shoulder-length black wig. Nobody would have been able to tell that you were the youngest member of the Morgenstern family and the silent killer everybody just called" **Black Rose** ".

Original: /works/14187336/chapters/32702658


	2. Chapter 2

**?:? P.M.**

You were standing in your garden, surrounded by dead plants and the light of the full moon. It was a cold night, but you weren't freezing even though the only thing you wore was a white nightgown. You took one step back on the frozen ground and tried to escape the shadow that was chasing you. It was moving slowly because it knew that it would get to you anyway, even if you tried to escape. The shadow was hiding in a bush, playing with the leaves so the last ones fell off. It played with you. The shadow wanted you to move before it made its next step. Like you were figures in a chess game. The shadow was the black queen and you were the white king. It was able to move in every direction as much as it wanted to and you were only able to make one step at a time. You were captured, like every one of your victim. Slowly, you stepped to the left and hid behind the old tree. The shadow seemed to watch you and for a moment you even thought the bush laughed at you for being so predictable.

You closed your eyes and leaned back on the tree. It made you feel anxious to be so vulnerable and weak but you knew that the shadow was stronger than you anyway. You never saw it's face, you didn't even know if it had one, but it frightened you even though it never showed its face. It was coming closer and closer, chasing you like a snake was chasing a rabbit: patient, focused and silently.

You kept your eyes shut as you felt a cold flow of air on your cheek. Like the shadow brushed over it with its invisible hand. You took a deep breath and knew it was over. The shadow won. Checkmate. You lost. As you were breathing out, you first felt nothing, but then the shadow rushed into your body and it felt like someone pushed shards of ice into your body and into your soul. The feeling was so overwhelming, you only stood there and screamed, but nobody seemed to hear you.

When you woke up, you were still screaming. The cold feeling lasted a few minutes and you were trying to catch your breath while your heart was racing. Your face felt wet like you had been crying and the bedsheets were lying on the ground. It was only a nightmare, you were still alive. After a few minutes, your pulse and your breathing were back to normal, but the feeling of being chased by a shadow still lasted

 **08:30 A.M.**

After your nightmare you washed yourself and got dressed up in a kind of eccentric black dress. It got a black corset and a skirt which was longer in the back than it was in the front. Your black boots were knee-high and the thin heels were making a unique sound as you walked into the café. Four days ago you successfully killed Mister Pomeroy and now it was time to get payed. Your customer wanted to meet at 8:30 A.M. at desk 5 in the "la lune" café.

A few locks of your (h/c) hair got loose of your updone hair and fell on your shoulders so they lightly brushed them as you walked. For a moment everybody in the small café seemed to freeze and looked at you but then the chatting went on and nobody looked at you anymore. Nobody except for one person. A rather ordinary looking man with round glasses and a beige trenchcoat looked at you and you looked at the sign on the table he was sitting at. Table number five. This was the man who was supposed to give you your well-earned money. Your smile deepened as you sat down in the empty chair in front of him. "What a wonderful day. The sun shines, the people are coming out of their houses and it smells like _roses_.", you said instead of greeting him like every normal person would. He looked at you for a moment and nodded. "Indeed, it is a nice day.", he said with no emotions in his voice and took a last sip of his tea. On the table was lying the newest edition of The Times with the big headline " _Black Rose strikes again_ " and a picture of the peacefully looking Mister Pomeroy at its front. The newspaper was folded in the middle and handed to you by your nameless counterpart. "You should read the cover story. Really interesting."

The man stood up from his chair and nodded in your direction. "Goodbye, Miss Morgenstern", he said rather quietly so only you were able to hear it. "Goodbye", you answered as you took the envelope out of the newspaper. It felt heavy and you smiled over your reward as you slid it into the pocket of your small purse. Now you got time to read the newspaper and drink a nice cup of tea before you left.

About an hour passed before you finally left the café. You took all the time you wanted to either drink tea and read or talk to the waitresses. They seemed nice and you had plenty of time left because there was no new customer. You took the newspaper as you stood up and folded it in the middle like before, then you left the café with a slight smile on your lips. It was still sunny and not as cold as a few days ago which was like a little miracle in London, where it was usually pretty foggy.

You walked along the street where the hotel, that you recently worked at, was. Outside there were standing three men, a child and Mrs. Hoover, who owned the hotel. Curiously you continued walking by but slowed down a bit.

"...so I repeat: the only person who could have been with him at this time, is a french woman with black hair who worked as a maid at your place but is missing now?", one of the men said and looked at his notes. Mrs. Hoover nodded and leaned against the wall. "She was such a good girl, maybe she got killed, too? I would not expect her to do such a bad thing.", she mumbled as the kid stared at her with his cold, blue eye. "Don't underestimate anyone. The ones that look the most innocent are the cruelest", he hissed at her, taking a quick look at the scary, black-haired man next to him. They looked somehow familiar to you but you weren't able to tell why. The man said nothing and looked at you. Just for a moment his red eyes met your (e/c) ones. It felt like the shadow of your dream crawled under your skin and made you shiver. In this short moment you felt cold, like his eyes were staring directly at your soul, and you felt strangely _exposed_.

The man with the notes seemed to notice that the attention of the rather scary looking guy was focused on something behind him and turned around. In the second he looked at you, you knew him. It was Inspector Abberline from Scotland Yard. You had met him a few times before because like most people he knew the story of your family, but nobody was ever able to bring on the necessary evidence that you all were killers. "Miss Morgenstern. It's a pleasure to meet you here - what a lucky coincidence", he said and closed his notes. You took a quick look at Mrs. Hoover, but she was talking to his colleague, so she didn't notice you. Instead of her the two unknown figures had noticed you and now stared at you. "The pleasure is all mine, Inspector Abberline. Another murder, I assume?", you answered him and smiled innocently.

Inspector Abberline looked not very pleased at you and seemingly wanted to ask you how in hell you knew about it but then he noticed the newspaper in your hand with a photograph of the case on it. Then he found something else to criticise. " _Abber_ line. It's _Aberline_ for Christ's sake!."

You knew that his name was Abberline but you liked to tease him a bit. After losing his temper for a moment, he took a deep breath. "Unfortunately yes, my dear. You got nothing to do with it?", he asked more like a rethorical question than a real one. He seemed to assume that you had to do something with it but you would rather strip from your dress and walk along the street naked than give him an honest answer on this question. "Of course not.", you said, simulated shocked of the offensive question. You even gasped to make your little act perfect. Abberline just sighed subdued. It was pointless and he knew it. "That's it for today. I'm sorry that I worried you, Miss Morgenstern and I'm sorry that you couldn't get any further informations on the case Earl Phantomhive.", he said in a rather dulled tone before he left.

Earl Phantomhive? So this boy was the " _Guard Dog_ "? Abberline clearly spoke to him because the scary guy from earlier now kneeled on the ground in front of a cat and fondled it. Really strange. So you met the Inspector and covered up your tracks a little bit more and you now knew what this mysterious Earl Phantomhive looked like.

"So you are the young Earl?", you asked the boy in front of you and eyed him up and down. He raised his left eyebrow and remained silent until you reached out your hand. "(y/n) Morgenstern. It's a pleasure to meet you." He took your hand and shook it for a moment. "Nice to meet you, too. Sebastian? If you could let go of this damn cat... I would be ready to go. Now." His tone was sharp and determinant and the much older guy called Sebastian sighed and let the cat go. "Yes, young master.", he answered with a small bow. "Have a nice day, Miss Morgenstern." His master started walking the opposite direction of the street as he turned around and looked at you one last time with his red eyes. For a moment you even thought they were cat-like slits but when you blinked, they were back to normal. Maybe it was the sun. You shook your head and walked away from the hotel, back to your flat.


	3. Chapter 3

Your family never was "close" to the church or what went on in it, so you never went to church as a kid. You were always one of the few people who wandered along the streets on Sunday when everybody else was sitting on a hard wooden bench, listening to the things God wanted them to hear. Pathetic. This whole religious stuff was just stupid in your eyes. You never believed in any of these things, not in _demons_ and not in _angels_ . You believed in yourself because if _God_ or any of those creatures really existed, they would at least have shown themselves. It was a tradition in your family to take part in a ritual so your soul would be sacrificed to a demon when you die. That stupid ritual was the reason for the pentagram on your back and even then nothing happened. If this bloody demon really cared for the soul he got sacrificed, he would at least have shown up or left a message but there was nothing but a nasty, scarred pentagram and a family of pathetic people who thought that demons existed. You wouldn't believe in this whole hocus-pocus until the day it would become reality. It would be the day on which the shadow of your dreams shows its face.

 **11:00 A.M.**

Like every Sunday you walked along the street. Unlike the last days, the weather was bad again. It was cold so you needed a coat, and when you left the house it started to rain. The rain went on and you held your black umbrella over your head as you walked along the pavement next to the Hyde Park. A few cabs passed your way and every time they did, your dress got a little bit wetter. It was a good choice to wear the old and simple black dress, you thought to yourself. If you wore the more extravagant dress with the corset it would have been ruined by the dirt that came along with the water from the street.

You walked on and sat down on a relatively dry bench, so you could rest for a moment. The umbrella was still placed over you and your boots were surprisingly dry inside. On the outside, they were wet and dirty so you knew you would have to clean them as soon as you got home again. As you sat on the bench, you used the time to watch the people passing by. It was something you often did, because you wanted to learn something about them. It was your goal to read them just like you read books. You often just sat somewhere and watched the people surrounding you, trying to predict what the strangers would do next. Maybe this habit came along with your profession because at work you did the same: sit and watch. Seemingly, nobody wanted someone else to die at the moment or else they would have contacted you. What a pity. You quickly became bored of too much free time, so you would have welcomed a new victim very much.

When you sat on that bench, something came back to your mind: Your dreams or your nightmares, to be precise. This cold shadow that kept creeping up in them. Also your past. You had a bad feeling about the nightmares, what of course was kind of normal. Who wouldn't if they woke up screeming at least once or twice a week? Sometimes you refused to sleep because you didn't want your nightmares to make your sleep bad. You tried your best to keep the signs of insomnia covered up, so nobody would doubt to question your profession. Thanks to your name and your insane family you had a reputation to loose. One mistake could cost you everything, especially as a woman. You sighed and silently wished that your nightmares would disappear magically so you could at least sleep peacefully as your victims but they sure wouldn't.

It soon stopped raining and you stood up from the bench. You fished your pocket watch out of your handbag and looked at it, suprised that it was later than you thought. "Let's make some money, little girl.", you muttered to yourself and walked back to your flat. Your father used to say this to you when you were little and he was going to attempt a new 'job', so you kind of took over this habit and said this to yourself, every time you did your circular route around your "information spots" in London.

 **06:25 P.M.**

With your dried umbrella in your hand you walked down the street to your favourite pub, which unfortunately was rather far away from your home and the final destination of your route. Your feet hurt and nobody had known about a suitable job for you, so you were a bit frustrated. Sometimes you weren't very lucky, even though you basically were the best one in the business of making people go silent forever.

You sat on the barstool next to the wall and leaned your umbrella against it, ordering a glass of whiskey as you walked by. Paul, who was working at this place every night, just waved at you so you knew he understood. It was kind of your ritual: Every time you walked into this bar you sat on the same barstool and ordered the same whiskey from the same guy, no matter how your mood was. Paul was a middle-aged man who used to work as a fisherman until he discovered his passion for cooking. This man made the best fish and chips you could imagine and also knew the best jobs the underground had to offer. He was truely a treasure to you and kind of like a crazy uncle to you.

"Aye missy, ya came here pretty late today. Anythin' special happened?", you heard Paul scream over the table as an unknown man, who looked like one of the fishermen, handed you your drink. Paul had just reached it out in your direction and they knew what to do. " _The Founders Arms_ " was one of the few places you kind of felt like home. "I was looking for a job but there weren't any.", you told Paul right away, "And I overslept today so I went out an hour later than usual." Paul looked at you and smiled. Of course your crazy uncle had a job for you to offer, you could tell by his smile. "I heard about somethin' today, if you're interested. Not really a big deal but better than nothin', huh?"

You took a sip from your whiskey and leaned yourself against the bar. He was right. Not big was at least better than nothing. "I'm listening.", you simply answered, interested in what he had to say. "Do you know this friendly old man who has this bakery opposite to this creepy funeral parlour? He's got a daughter who wants to inherit the bakery as soon as possible because her father seems to dislike her more and more so she's anxious that she might won't get the bakery after his death.", Paul told you while he was serving some more drinks. It really was not really big but you haven't had anything better to do. "Tell her I'll do it.", you mumbled into your glass and drained it in one sip.

This basically was how you got your orders: You walked through London, met with your underworld contacts and mostly got the orders to kill somebody. Sometimes you got other requests that required your skills but you didn't want to do most of them. You were a killer, not a dog who looked after people and protected them in the case of an attack, so protecting some uninteresting people was not worth your precious time.


End file.
